


My Heart Cries For You

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early Season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Cries For You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in my LJ in 2010

He woke me up. Again.   
  
I could feel his thrashing in the dark more than I could see it. Curled into a fetal position and mumbling incoherently, he was having another nightmare, although he would never admit it. I reached out and tapped his arm but he pulled away, moaning. Careful not to startle him, I gave a more forceful poke. When his vulnerability surfaced this way, I had to be extra cautious. He hated himself when he woke up, hated for me to see what he perceived as weakness. Sometimes I had the feeling he even hated me.   
  
All I wanted was to hold him and reassure him—everything he despised. But I didn't. “Brian, wake up.”   
  
He rocked back and forth with a sound that ripped my heart out and tore at my gut. I had to stop it. The hell with careful. Desperation fueling logic, I placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him a hard shake. “Brian! It's okay. Wake up!”  
  
From past experience, I knew that as reality called to him, his defense mechanism would kick in. He’d be sarcastic, abrasive, and ruthless with remarks sharp enough to cut glass _._ And me. If nothing else, he was predictable. When the grip of his nightmare cut him loose, he jerked his head up, eyes wild and unfocused, then bolted off the bed. He couldn’t get to the living room fast enough, couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Even though we’d been through this before, wetness pooled along my lashes. I felt acutely alone and incredibly helpless—for myself and for him.  
  
The irony isn’t lost on me. Having selfishly used him as my anchor and crutch these past few months, drawing on his strength to bolster mine, it's not surprising he'd buckle under the strain. No matter how hard he tries, he’s not superman. I don’t want him to be. I just want him to be a man.  
  
He blames himself. It’s in his eyes every fucking day. Sometimes, I can actually see the pain. That’s when I want to scream at him to stop. I wish I could make him understand he couldn't have prevented it, convince him the bashing wasn't his fault. But I can’t. I don’t know if anyone can. I have no doubt I’m alive, performing normal tasks and experiencing day-to-day minutiae most people bitch about, because of Brian. Yet, if you were to give him some kind of truth serum, he'd say he was the reason I almost died. How fucked up is that? And who needs therapy?  
  
I won’t lie. I have a litany of issues that probably will never be resolved. My gimp hand makes me queen out alot. There’s a gaping hole in my memory I’ll never get back, despite the brief flash I had at Gus’s birthday party.   
  
_“There were moments of gold_ _and there were flashes of light_ _. It’s all coming back to me now.”_ _©J.Steinman_  
  
I get depressed, angry, and fucking frustrated. More often than not, I take it out on him. And he lets me. Because of his guilt or in spite of it? I’m not sure. I wish... God, I wish he’d fight back once in awhile. Argue or yell or accuse me of being a pathetic little shit. He doesn’t. He just fucking stares into space with his lip between his teeth. Then he hits the Beam.  
  
I never told anyone, but that pull to nothingness was really tempting. There were times I almost surrendered to the quicksand of peace and quiet. But whenever I felt myself slipping away, this loud and bossy voice in my head threatened to tie my balls up so tight they’d ache for a week and promised to fuck me all night long. Even more motivating was the whispered 'I want you safe. I want you around for a long time' that filtered through the chaos.  
  
Brian was the warm light at the end of a cold tunnel of darkness. He's the reason I couldn’t give up. When I realized I didn’t want to die, I started to fight—to live. He’s a part of me, now and forever.   
  
I think life is like a history book, constantly revised and re-written until the last chapter is finished because there's a chance the ending could be altered by a moment or a person whose effect can never be ignored or forgotten.   
  
                                                                                         The End


End file.
